


Liegeman's Service

by Dusk Peterson (duskpeterson)



Series: Waterman [17]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1910s, 1960s, Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - 1910s, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - 20th Century, Alternate Universe - Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Original, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Alternate Universe - War, Bisexual Male Character(s), Courage, Crime, Ethical Issues, F/M, Gen, Historical slash, M/M, Multi, Original Fiction, Original Slash, Retro, Science Fiction, Slash, Soldiers, Students, University, War, consent issues (subplot), criminals, don't need to read other stories in the series, gen - Freeform, het subplot, liege lords, liegemen, original gen, retrofuture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26689237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/pseuds/Dusk%20Peterson
Summary: "On the other side of the postcard was a message from his liegeman: 'My research goes well here, sir. If I may be of further service, please let me know.' Nothing more. Nothing about him missing Pembroke. Nothing about him wishing Pembroke was there."Bereft of his liegeman, Pembroke is forced to cut short his education in order to serve his liege-master at the Third Landstead University. War upon the waters seems imminent in their bayside landstead. But Master Rudd, who will soon rule over their landstead, is interested in nothing but food, games, and his most recent passion, women.With his own bed now cold, Pembroke must decide how far his loyalty extends to his liege-master. The answer may lie in long-remembered tales from Pembroke's boyhood.Boilerplate warning for all my stories + my rating system.
Relationships: Original Male Character & Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Female Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Waterman [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/15171
Kudos: 1
Collections: A Whisper to the  Dark Side, Chains: The Powerfic Archive, Historical Fic, Queer Characters Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _**Author's note:** This is a side story in the Waterman series. You don't need to read the other stories in the series to understand this one._
> 
> _Readers new to this series may wish to know that this story is set in a nation that has halted its cultural and technological progress in the 1910s._

_1963 Fallow, Autumn Death week._

  
Pembroke (nobody used his first name except his family) would have preferred to have attended the Ninth Landstead University. That university had the best military studies program, for its landstead had gone to war most often with the other members of the Alliance of the Dozen Landsteads. Alternatively, he would have liked to have attended the Second Landstead University, in order to get to know better the young men he would undoubtedly be battling in warfare within a few seasons. He would even have considered attending the First Landstead University – that would have been a gift to his liegeman, who had a fascination with the only landstead which permitted the development of higher technology.

Instead, here he was in his own landstead, at the Third Landstead University. An act of service to his liege-master, who needed him there. Or so Rudd claimed.

Pembroke stood at the window of Rudd's room, on the top floor of the first-ranked masters' dormitory. Beyond the dormitory was nothing but lawn, followed by flat farm-fields spreading west in the direction of the faraway Bay. Down on the lawn below, the Dean's wife had spread out a picnic for her younger children. She was busy telling them a familiar fairy tale.

"Once upon a time there lived a young master who had two liegemen," she said, taking firm hold of her youngest son's skirt, so that he would not crawl away in the direction of the nearby picket game. "One of these liegemen was good and faithful, always eager to fulfill his oath to serve his liege-master. But the other liegeman was evil and rebellious, always eager to find a way to betray his oath to serve his liege-master. Now, it happened one day that the young master sighted the young sister of the High Master. And he fell in love. . . ."

Pembroke looked down at the postcard in his hands. It was from the First Landstead, as he could have guessed at once from the holographic image. On the other side of the postcard was a message from his liegeman: "My research goes well here, sir. If I may be of further service, please let me know." Nothing more. Nothing about him missing Pembroke. Nothing about him wishing Pembroke was there.

"For goodness' sake, Pembroke, stop mooning over your liegeman's postcard," said Rudd. "Come help me hang these pictures."

There was a passion in his voice that would brook no denial. Pembroke slipped the postcard into the inner pocket of his jacket, delaying the moment when he must turn around. There had been a time when he had responded to the fire in Rudd's voice with eagerness and joy. Those were the days when Pembroke had envisioned Rudd using his fire to lead their landstead to glory when he rose to power.

It had taken Pembroke too long – far too long – to realize that Rudd only directed his glorious passion toward trivialities. Food. Games. Paintings of half-naked girls. And, at one time, his favorite liegeman.

As he turned from the window, Pembroke didn't bother to glance at Rudd's bed. The days when Rudd had called upon him to give liegeman's service were long gone. Rudd's bed-passions were spent in a different direction these days. Moving forward, Pembroke held the latest painting so that Rudd could hammer its nail into the wall.

"Blasted servants," said Rudd as he did so. "Never here when you need them."

"Would you like me to do the hammering, sir?" Pembroke asked, trying to muster enthusiasm into his voice.

"No, I need you to hold the picture." Rudd moved back, his eyes checking the position of the picture. "You're all gloomy today. And why the 'sir'? You know you're allowed to call me Rudd in private."

At one time, words like that would have caused a thrill to travel down his spine. "Sorry. I guess I'm distracted by thoughts of the mid-term exams."

Rudd snorted as he turned away. "You should do what I do, and ignore them. I'm first-ranked, and everyone knows that you will be as well, as soon as I officially inherit my title and raise your rank. Nobody cares whether first-ranked masters study their books."

"Why are you here, then?" Nudging the picture slightly – it hung askew – he asked the question, knowing the answer.

Rudd shrugged, tossing the hammer onto his desk. It landed with a thud on his unopened governance textbook. "An easy enough way to pass the days till they give me my title. If I stayed in the capital, Fletcher would be dragging me into his business all the time."

Rudd's tone was sour. The two cousins had undergone a disastrous break in relations during their final days as schoolfellows at Narrows School, when Rudd had proclaimed to him that girls were far better bedmates than boys were. Fletcher, who had absolutely no interest in marrying, had taken offense at this insult concerning his taste in bedmates. Since then, the cousins had barely spoken, despite their nominal ties. To the amazement of everyone who had attended Narrows School at that time, Fletcher had turned out to be a reasonably competent regent for the late High Master's heir. Unfortunately, Fletcher's regency would end when Rudd turned twenty-one.

Rudd was saying, "One of these days, I must beget me an heir. Fletcher won't do as High Master, if I should die."

"Only one of these days?"

The words were out before he could call them back. Rudd's eyes narrowed as he turned to look at Pembroke. "What do you mean by that remark?"

Thank goodness he presently served as Rudd's secretary; he could offer a handy excuse for what he had said. "You're corresponding with Master Trundle's daughter. I thought you two had an understanding."

"Oh, her." Rudd dismissed the idea with a wave of the hand. "She's not high-ranked enough."

She was first-ranked. And that, Pembroke reflected, was as good as a confession concerning what Rudd intended to do.

But not quite as good as a confession. Pembroke looked out the window at the Dean's wife, who was continuing her tale of forbidden love. "And so the evil liegeman betrayed his liege-master, and the young master was discovered with his arms around the High Master's sister. Then the High Master, enraged, ordered that the young master be thrown into prison. . . ."

"This is boring," Rudd said, about nothing in particular. It was what he said at least once every day. "What shall we do?"

If they had still been at Narrows School, Pembroke would have known what he meant and would be eagerly pulling back the bedsheet. Instead, he said, "It's a pleasant day outside. We could go downtown."

Rudd snorted. "As if there's anything downtown to look at."

A difficult charge to counter; the town of Hurley had few charms, being made up mainly of the railroad, a canning manufactory, an ice company, and a sawmill. None of this would interest Rudd. In contrast, Pembroke was deeply interested in these signs that businesses in the interior of the landstead were still unaffected by the battles on the Bay between the watermen of the Third Landstead and the Second Landstead. If Pembroke had his way, that would remain the case.

He tried again. "There are girls."

"Just servant girls," Rudd countered, but Pembroke could see that his suggestion had hooked the fish. He glanced out the window again. The Dean's children were now rapt, listening to the end of the fairy tale.

"And so the young master married his beloved and became High Master. And the evil liegeman, who had faithlessly betrayed his oath to his liege-master, was banished forever from the landstead, while the good liegeman, who had remained loyal to his oath, was granted a high title. . . ."

How long ago had it been since his mother had recited that tale to him, and he had dreamed of one day being that loyal liegeman? How long now had he tried to stay faithful to that dream?

Rudd was moving toward the door. Pembroke glanced hurriedly round the room, saw nothing incriminating there, and hurried after his liege-master.


	2. Chapter 2

The journey that followed was filled with rocks that would have sunk the sturdiest battleship.

The trouble started as they reached the porch of the dormitory. The university's picket team was at practice on the side lawn, and its captain waved at Rudd and Pembroke, inviting them to join the game.

Pembroke would have enjoyed a good game of picket. Indeed, at Narrows School he'd been captain of the Third House's teams in picket and footer – the Landstead games that were designed to train young men in military techniques.

But today he was in no mood for such a game, so he distracted Rudd by pointing at a servant girl walking down the street. She was a slender young woman, her arms full of groceries she was bringing home from downtown, while her young children tagged at her heels, kicking the crumbling autumn leaves.

Rudd snorted and described his dissatisfaction at her skinny body, so loudly that the girl went crimson. Pembroke felt badly for the servant, but he had accomplished his task: Rudd had forgotten the game nearby. The two of them turned left, leaving behind the bowlers trying to break through the picket lines.

Pembroke and Rudd passed the university – a brick building only a couple of stories high, whose central doorway was currently crowded with students scrambling over themselves as they made their way down the steps after the last classes of the day. The students were discussing excitedly the university's new purchase of a gramophone; that was as sophisticated a sound device as could be found in the upper landsteads, whose high law forbade the development of high technology. Pembroke glanced at the Dean's house, directly across from the university. At this time of day, as classes came to an end, the Dean was often to be found sitting on the porch, reading aloud to his eldest daughter, of whom he was fond. But neither the Dean nor his daughter was there.

The rest of Main Street had a dull appearance: only small wooden houses, designed for third-ranked masters or servants. Across the street, a second-ranked master was flipping his way through some gaudy envelopes; Rudd preferred bright-colored stationery when he corresponded with his many girls in town. The second-ranked master looked up, sighted Rudd, and went down on his right knee.

Rudd offered nothing but a casual wave to the liegeman he had placed in charge of hand-delivering his correspondence. Unusually for a first-ranked master, Rudd had shown little interest in acquiring liegemen, much less in rewarding them for their efforts on his behalf. As Rudd had put it to Pembroke, he'd have plenty of liegemen offering him their oaths by the time he finished university, and he wouldn't have to pay more than a handful of them.

Now Rudd and Pembroke passed a house that was somewhat more attractive than the others, with a broad porch. It housed a second-ranked mastress who had been willing to board Pembroke. The dormitory for second-ranked masters was closer to the university, but Pembroke did not qualify for housing there.

He still did not recall what words by his liege-master had caused Pembroke to agree to Rudd's plans for him. Until the end of Pembroke's fifth form at Narrows School, Pembroke's plans had been as clear as that of any well-educated lad in the Dozen Landsteads. He would graduate from Narrows School at age eighteen, attend university, spend his summer holidays training to be an army officer, and take over his military duties at age twenty-one.

Instead, to the horror of his parents and his school masters, he had cut short his schooling on his sixteenth summer, dropping out of Narrows School well before he would have graduated.

The Dean of Third Landstead University had been kind enough to allow Pembroke to accompany Rudd to his governance classes. Pembroke had done his best to absorb as much information as possible about the structure of government in the Dozen Landsteads, as well as its laws – both the high law and the Third Landstead law. He had read Rudd's textbooks on these subjects with great care. One never knew when such knowledge might become handy.

But his own planned studies had never occurred. Since he left Narrows, he had not been able to find the opportunity to learn more about military studies, geography, and history – the lessons he needed in order to be a good army officer.

"Never you mind," Rudd had said cheerfully on the one occasion on which Pembroke had dared to mention his discomfort at the derailing of his long-held plans. "I'll appoint you as an army officer when I turn twenty-one. That won't be long from now."

Pembroke had shut his mouth then. It would have been disloyal to voice the misgivings that Rudd's cheerful pronouncement raised in Pembroke's mind.

Now they reached Hurlock's downtown, which Pembroke thought could scarcely be dignified with such a name, being designed largely for servants. A cobbler, two barbers, a general store, a blacksmith, a butcher . . . That was what downtown Hurlock had to offer in the way of culture. Pembroke himself had grown up on a quiet Bay island, many miles from the busy capital, but watermen made their own entertainment, with their gatherings full of laughter and tales of bravery on boats during storms. Hurlock was simply dull.

Rudd sighted a poster plastered on the side of the post office. "There's a new moving picture! I want to see it."

With futility did Pembroke object to this change in plans; Rudd was in one of his passions, pulling Pembroke toward the entrance to the town's moving-picture palace . . . though never was the word "palace" less applicable.

As Pembroke had known would be the case, the theater was full of raucous servants, those too idle to take work in any of the nearby manufactories. Cheerfully discarding his dignity, Rudd hooted back at the servants. Then he shouldered his way past the seated organist as Pembroke silently led them to the row of seats at the front that was reserved for first-ranked masters and their liegemen or families.

A newsreel was in progress as they sat down. Pembroke didn't need to read the titles to know that the cameras had caught Fletcher showing off his new favorite liegeman. Pembroke scrutinized the man carefully – favorite liegemen could hold power of their own – but the man seemed to be content to allow Fletcher to control the proceedings. The titles gently hinted that the man was offering liegeman's service to his liege-master; that was obvious enough, from the kiss that Fletcher gave him. The title writer amused himself by making the usual joke about High Masters having too many liegemen to rotate for bed-service.

"He's not High Master!" said Rudd, so loudly that everyone around him turned to glare. Pembroke put his hand lightly on Rudd's thigh. Rudd subsided with a grumble – "He's only my bloody regent" – but he fidgeted as another newsreel began.

This one captured Pembroke's attention, far more than the first. Some enterprising newsman had managed to place his film camera upon a brogan that ended up in a battle on the Bay. Most of the images that followed were blurred, of course, but Pembroke saw enough to disquiet him. Those were not the skipjacks and bugeyes of the House of His Master's Kindness – the Second Landstead House that had been pirating in the Third Landstead's waters for years, stealing oysters from the Third Landstead's beds. No, these enemy boats belonged to other Second Landstead Houses, as their flags clearly showed.

Until now, Fletcher had refrained from spreading his fleet's battles beyond the boats of the House of His Master's Kindness, maintaining that it was only one, rogue House that was causing trouble between their two landsteads. But now, it seemed, the trouble had spread. How would Fletcher react?

This was the question which Pembroke voiced to his liege-master as Rudd finally – inevitably – grew so bored with the newsreels that he pulled Pembroke out of the moving-picture palace, complaining at the top of his lungs about poor entertainment.

Pembroke's query succeeded in quieting Rudd; however, Rudd merely shrugged in reply. "It's not his problem. He won't be regent for much longer."

"Then how will you—?"

But Rudd had already turned his attention from the conversation. "There's a pool game going on! Let's join it!"

Pembroke managed to pull his liege-master away from the sordid domain of the servants' poolroom, only by suggesting that the two of them dine at the hotel. Rudd, whose passion for games was only exceeded by his passion for delicious food, agreed to the plan, and together they crossed over the railroad tracks.

Pembroke thought of raising his question again, then decided against that course of action. Rudd's answer, he thought, was contained in his refusal to consider the topic of upcoming war. 

o—o—o

On the other side of the tracks was what Pembroke considered the respectable part of the downtown – at least, as respectable as Hurlock got.

The hotel, a bank, two chapels of rebirth – that was what lay at the crossroads ahead. One chapel was for the Traditionalist congregation; the other chapel was for the Reformed Traditionalist congregation.

As a boy, Pembroke had attended Reformed Traditionalist services with his family and Traditionalist services with his classmates at Narrows School. He could see little difference between the two denominations. Both were centered on faith in the cycle of death, transformation, and rebirth.

Since he had left Narrows School, he had not attended any services. Rudd would have been willing – though grudgingly so – to allow Pembroke his time at chapel, but Pembroke saw no need. As a soldier living in a landstead on the verge of war, he would soon be surrounded by death. As for the rest, it was a matter of faith. There was no evidence in this world that the deserving dead were transformed and reborn. Indeed, the Dozen Landsteads' faith made no promises that this cycle would occur to any particular individual. One died in hope that one would have accomplished enough good in one's life to be transformed and reborn. But at the time of death, one couldn't know for sure.

It was a grim sort of faith, but this faith suited Pembroke's current mood. He tipped his hat at the chapels and hurried to catch up with Rudd.

Rudd was already weaving his way between the obstacles on the triangular green in front of the hotel: trees, hammocks, swings, children, and two men sitting on the ground, playing cards. From the suits that they wore, combined with their rank-tattoos, it was evident that the men were sales-servants, sent by their masters to make sales on behalf of their Houses. Most of the hotel guests were servants passing through town on the railroad, although the hotel maintained excellent dining in an effort to attract mealtime visits by local masters.

There were a few third-ranked masters and their families on the porches – the masters sitting on the second-story porch, the women and children standing on the ground-floor porch. Rudd, greatly outranking them all, grinned at the children and pinched the bottom of one of the wives. That was Rudd all over. It never bothered him to travel into the society of third-ranked masters or even servants, because he didn't give a fig what anyone thought of him. He was utterly oblivious to the usual social pressures, believing himself to be in the right, no matter what he did. Pembroke, carefully trained to adhere to duty at all times, envied Rudd at times.

Rudd opened the mosquito-netted door with a slam that must have vibrated through the entire hotel; then he waited for Pembroke to reach and pass him. It was Pembroke's job to "break the way" for his liege-master, though the entry hall currently lay empty.

The entry hall was handsome, as far as Hurlock's low standards permitted. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The wallpaper showed the emblem of the Third Landstead: watermen holding long oystering tongs aloft in evident readiness to ward off any threats to the landstead. A staircase, its wooden bannister oiled to a shine, led upstairs. Immediately to the left was the hotel keeper's reception room, presently empty. To the right was the door to the dining hall.

Pembroke took the few steps necessary to reach the dining hall entrance, glanced through the doorway, and continued on past the stairs, not breaking stride. As he had hoped would happen, his liege-master followed. They both had too much experience at this sort of thing for Rudd to ask questions until safety was reached.

Behind them trailed the voice of the Dean's eldest daughter, raised to a pitch as she called for a waiter. Rudd sped up, passing Pembroke so that his liegeman was shielding his back. Then Rudd stopped abruptly.

The hotel, into which they had never ventured this far together, turned into a maze at this point. There was a door to the left, a door to the right, and a corridor ahead that led to more doors. All of the doors were closed. Through some of them could be heard conversation and laughter.

Rudd looked enquiringly at Pembroke; it was Pembroke's job to navigate escapes. Pembroke turned, saw a door under the stairs, and opened it.

Steps led down. There was no sign of a button to turn on the light – Hurlock was electrified, barely – but Rudd had already noticed an electric hand-lamp on a nearby table. He gestured at it impatiently.

Pembroke briefly inspected it; the hand-lamp was of the sort used by miners and railroad men, with a battery inside its steel, cylindrical bottom. It looked like a miniature lamphouse. He rotated the bottom, watched the light radiate, and picked up the lamp by its hook. He let Rudd go down the steps first, though; Pembroke stayed at the top of the stairs, listening. After a moment, satisfied, he hurried down the stairs behind Rudd.

Rudd had just reached the limits of the lamplight and was waiting for Pembroke to catch up. The lamplight, touching the floor of the cellar, showed why Rudd had waited; the cellar was clogged with crates. Somewhere nearby a machine whined.

Pembroke followed the sound of the whining machine as he led Rudd deeper into the dark cellar. The hand-lamp's light did very little to penetrate the dark. Finally Pembroke found the source of the whining; it was somewhere within a large cabinet next to the wall. He felt the cabinet. It was warm, and it vibrated under his hand; his fingertips touched its glass front, currently too dark to see. He placed the lamp upon the cabinet. The vibration caused the light to shudder, making the cellar even murkier than before.

Rudd was muttering curses under his breath; then he stopped. He had heard what Pembroke had: the sound of a door opening.

Rudd looked at Pembroke. Pembroke shook his head. He had no way to voice an explanation that the door had possessed no lock. Rudd contented himself with giving a lazy blow to the side of Pembroke's head. Then they both waited.

The footfalls upon the steps came hesitantly. Then the visitor was within the lamplight, on the bottom half of the steps. She said hesitantly, "Alley?"

Rudd, who had inherited his father's unfortunate name of Aloysius, winced. It seemed to occur to him then that he could hide himself in the dark. He tried to move back, but Pembroke was behind him.

The Dean's daughter made her way down the rest of the steps and ventured out from the clutter of crates, but she did not come near Rudd. "Darling, did you get my letter?"

"Letter?" Rudd managed to sound suitably innocent. He had a lot of practice at this.

"I sent you a letter last month. Didn't you receive it?"

"Never reached me," Rudd replied cheerfully.

Strictly true; it had been Pembroke who had opened the heavily sealed letter and read it aloud to Rudd. Rudd had ordered him to burn it afterwards.

"I—" The Dean's daughter took a deep breath, as though preparing herself for battle. "I'm going to have a baby."

"Oh?" said Rudd in a voice of disinterest. "Congratulations to you and the father."

It was clear from her expression that the Dean's daughter had not expected a blow this harsh. Pembroke had to turn his eyes away. All around them was the deep darkness, but the darkness was not accompanied by silence. The machinery was whining, and the guests and hotel servants upstairs seemed to be making a good deal of noise. It served as a background, obscuring the sound of Pembroke shifting his position.

It was at that moment, as Pembroke had anticipated, that Rudd tried to make his break. Rudd never had any patience for these types of confrontations. Pembroke was ahead of him, though; he blocked Rudd's way, leaning across to murmur in his liege-master's ear, "I hear a man's voice in the entry hall above us. It may be her father."

Rudd sighed loudly, but subsided. In a trembling voice, the Dean's daughter said, "It's your baby, Alley. Surely you can't think otherwise!"

"Why not?" Rudd's tone somehow managed to combine carelessness with cruelty. "For all I know, you were spreading your legs open to every student at the university. You certainly seemed eager enough to spread your legs to me."

The Dean's daughter emitted a cry, as though she had been struck. She seemed determined to stay on script, though, for she said, "Alley, you know it's yours. The physician says the baby is due mid-spring, and you know that means it must have been conceived around the time of the summer cotillion."

To Pembroke's relief, Rudd refrained from making a cruel joke about how that evening had ended. Rudd's seductions always took on the speed of an attacking battleship; he rarely failed to win his girl by the end of the first evening. Now he shrugged. "So? Whether or not it's mine, I'm not going to marry you. You'd better find someone who will take whores into his bed."

The more bored that Rudd was with these confrontations, the more vicious he became. The Dean's daughter moaned, and it seemed for a moment that tears would prevent her from continuing. Rudd took the opportunity to whisper, "Is the entry hall clear yet?"

Pembroke shook his head. He had his ear very much attuned to the sounds around him, but if the Dean remained there, he was being exceedingly quiet.

The Dean's eldest daughter somehow managed to gather herself together. "But why?" she cried. Her anguish was clearly genuine. "Why won't you marry me? You told me you loved me. You told me I was beautiful."

Rudd sighed so loudly that his sigh momentarily obscured the sound of the machinery. He had his arms crossed, a certain sign that he was about to grow stubbornly silent.

Pembroke decided it was time he intervened. Raising his voice so that he could by heard by the Dean's daughter, he said, "Master, why don't you tell her? She's a sensible young woman; I'm sure she'll understand if you explain." He added in a whisper to Rudd, "The entry hall is clear now, but she's blocking the path to the stairs. If you push her away, she'll probably scream. If she knows that her cause is hopeless, she might let you go."

Rudd hesitated, and Pembroke held his breath. But in the end Rudd told her – told her, Pembroke guessed, not only because Rudd wanted to be rid of her but because he had waited so long to reveal his secret. Waited to have his brilliance admired by others.

Rudd said, "Sweet one, you're cute as a ladybug, but you just won't do. You must see that. I'm destined for higher things."

"Higher things?" The Dean's daughter sounded genuinely confused.

In the dim, dancing light, Rudd grinned. "I'm going to marry the sister of the High Master of the Second Landstead."

o—o—o

There was a long silence. Caught without a script, the Dean's daughter stared. Like Rudd, she was in her final year of journeymanship. She was of the type that Rudd liked – "with a proper amount of flesh on the bones," as he had once told Pembroke. She was dressed in a lacy autumn frock, suitable for her status as the daughter of a first-ranked master.

Finally the Dean's daughter said, in a blank voice, "But she's already married."

Rudd waved a hand, as though dismissing the most famously happy marriage in the Dozen Landsteads. "She'll accept a better alternative, once I have her alone. You see," he continued, warming to his story, "our landstead has dealt too long with piracy. It's time _we_ travelled across the Bay and took a treasure. The High Master of the Second Landstead is unmarried, with no children and no brothers. Once his only sister is mine, he'll have no choice but to name me as his heir. After that . . ." Rudd left the following events in the Second Landstead delicately unnamed, skipping over to the next part of the tale. "Then there's Maud."

"Maud?" The Dean's daughter seemed quite bewildered now. "The daughter of the High Master of the Fifth Landstead?"

"That's her. I went to school with her brother. He hasn't inherited his High Mastership yet. I'm going to be the heir of his landstead, once his older sister is in my hands." He grinned.

The eyes of the Dean's daughter were wide. "But if you're already married—"

"I can only marry once. Doesn't mean I only have to fuck once."

The Dean's daughter flinched. Rudd laughed. He was in his element now, taking control of the situation and molding it to his liking. He removed a cigarette from his jacket. Pembroke silently lit it for him.

"You see," said Rudd between puffs of the cigarette, "I've been thinking about that old joke about the High Master having so many liegemen that he can't bed them all. Why should it just be liegemen? Why shouldn't it be women? If I gather a collection of all the closest kinswomen of the High Masters of the Dozen Landsteads, and bed them all, and if the High Masters and their heirs should die while trying to fetch back their women . . . Well, that will make me High Master of all the landsteads, right? The Dozen Landsteads won't be a loose alliance anymore, vulnerable to civil war and weak to outside enemies. We'll be one nation, united under one ruler!"

Rudd was standing straight now, his cigarette poised in his hand like a pair of tongs ready to thrust, his vision fixed upon his landstead's glorious future. Pembroke felt his throat ache. This was the liege-master whom Pembroke had loved as a boy. This was the heir who had vision – the heir who struck hard and conquered all.

There was only one problem. Rudd wouldn't be able to hold to his vision.

After all these years of liege-service, Pembroke knew that. Rudd would sow the worst civil war that the Dozen Landsteads had ever known . . . and then, bored, he'd go off somewhere to enjoy his new girls, leaving the rest of his landstead to be ravaged by the other, justifiably furious landsteads.

"So you see," said Rudd, tapping his cigarette with his finger as he strode toward the Dean's daughter, "you won't do, sweet one. It's a shame. You're pretty enough. But don't worry." Reaching her, he grabbed her chin. She gasped and tried to pull away, but he held firm. "I haven't forgotten you. You deserve a reward for all those nights when you warmed my bed. A reward for the baby."

"Your baby," she whispered.

Rudd shrugged. "My baby," he acknowledged. "Not that it matters; I'll have plenty of legitimate heirs within a year or two. In the meantime, I'll reward you. I'm going to marry you to my favorite liegeman."

Pembroke felt the words like a bayonet blade through his heart. The Dean's daughter said in a trembling voice, "It's against the law. Not only what you're planning, but what you've already done. You seduced me, didn't you? Seduction or rape of a virgin or married woman – that's illegal. Impregnating your victim brings the highest penalty; you could be imprisoned for that."

She sounded a bit too much as though she had been learning about the law, but Rudd didn't notice; he was beginning to explore her body further down. He chuckled. "It's so adorable when you try to act as if you know about men's matters. Sweet one, let me explain something very simple to you. I'm the High Master. Do you know what that means?"

She shook her head as she bit her lip. Tears ran down her face again as Rudd groped her. Pembroke began to pray they would be interrupted soon.

"It means that every first-ranked master in this landstead is my liegeman. Every single one. Your father. My cousin. The sheriff and every police chief in this landstead. You see? Nobody can arrest me. I can't even be arrested for rape and seduction, by the high law. No High Master or High Master's heir can be arrested for that. So you stop worrying about that and take care of the baby. _I'll_ take care of our landstead." Rudd stepped back, satisfied with his groping, his voice as confident as ever.

"I must admit, I didn't think even you could be so ignorant."

Lamps overhead flooded the cellar with light. Rudd whirled, dropping his cigarette. Pembroke had already turned toward the far end of the cellar.

Out of the darkness strode Alec Fletcher, Regent of the Third Landstead.

o—o—o

He was accompanied by the Dean and three policemen, all with grim expressions. The Dean's daughter flew to her father. The Dean put his arm around her as they came to stand next to the cabinet, but his eyes were upon Rudd.

"What the—?" As he spoke, Rudd stared. "What the bloody blades are you doing here, Fletcher?"

"Listening to you confess to your crimes. Listening to you show your abysmal ignorance of landstead law. Don't you ever open your governance textbooks, cousin?" Fletcher's voice was thick with contempt.

Pembroke was still standing between the two parties; he moved to the side, so that he would not block anyone's view. Rudd paid no attention to him. He flicked his cigarette, letting sparks fall to the ground. "You're the one who's ignorant of landstead law. You're only my regent for two weeks more. Then I'm your liege-master. Even now, I haven't committed any crimes. It's impossible for me to commit crimes. I'm the heir to a High Master."

The Dean winced, as though seeing all his classroom teaching gone to waste. Fletcher snorted. "You must have been sleeping through classes. And cheating on your tests again, no doubt. Did you really think that the men who framed our laws would fail to protect our landsteads against men like you? It's right there in the high law: You don't hold power until you're twenty-one. And even the High Master's heir can be sent down by his father or regent, if such a course is recommended by the head of his school." He waved his hand toward the Dean, who nodded gravely. "Incidentally . . ." Fletcher's gaze flicked momentarily over to Pembroke, then away. "Did you notice, during all your careful studies of our landstead's law, that only first-ranked masters can inherit the High Mastership of the Third Landstead?"

For a while, there was no sound except Rudd's heavy breath and the whining machinery. Nobody moved.

Then Rudd said, "The High Masters will never let you get away with this usurpation."

Fletcher raised his eyebrows. "The same High Masters whose sisters and daughters you were planning to despoil? I think you'll find that the High Masters' council demands that I send you down. You're lucky I've decided not to condemn you to prison. You deserve that, but there's no way I'm going to let you act the martyr. If you're outside prison, everyone will be able to see for themselves what you're like. They'll know what I've rescued our landstead from."

Rudd stepped forward. There was no fear on his face; on the contrary, there was contempt. "Except for one thing, cousin dear," he said lightly. "This conversation never happened."

One of the policemen spoke then. "Never happened?"

"Of course not." Rudd laughed, all his attention centered on his regent. "You're clever, Fletcher – very clever. I'll grant you that. Your plot almost worked. Except for one little detail you forgot: we're alone. On your side, there's only your word for what happened, as well as a disgruntled dean and some second-ranked policemen. I'll tell everyone those men were bribed by you, and I'll be believed. No one will believe you. Not when my liegeman, whose integrity everyone knows, testifies on my behalf. You'll have no proof at all that this ridiculous charge is true."

The ache was back in Pembroke's throat, watching Rudd stand with the stance of a High Master in battle. There was a sad little smile on Fletcher's face, as though he too regretted this moment of high tragedy. He made no reply; he merely looked at the Dean.

The Dean was still hugging his tear-stained daughter. With his free hand, he swung open the cabinet door.

Within the cabinet, the First Landstead machine continued to whine as it recorded on its magnetic tape. The Dean flipped a switch; the reels whirred back a space, then started forward again. Suddenly, in the spot where Rudd had stood before, a holoimage of him stood. The holoimage said smugly, "If I gather a collection of all the closest kinswomen of the High Masters of the Dozen Landsteads, and bed them all, and if the High Masters and their heirs should die while trying to fetch back their women . . ."

The Dean looked across the room as he said softly, "Thank you for arranging to have your liegeman send us this visirecorder, Master Pembroke."

There was a breathless pause, like the moment before the northwest blow slams into a boat.

Then Rudd was racing toward Pembroke, his hands outstretched. "Traitor!" he screamed.

The policemen – here for this purpose – reached Rudd before his hands could wrap themselves around Pembroke's neck. Rudd struggled in their grasp, like a mad dog. "Traitor!" he spat out. "Evil! Faithless! Vile oath-breaker!"

Some of Rudd's spit landed on Pembroke's face. Pembroke remained motionless. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that everyone had turned their gazes away from him. Even the Dean's brave daughter, whom Pembroke had coached in her lines, refused to meet his eyes.

It was the death he had dreaded.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a shock to come back to a town near the Bay, after all these terms away. Even during the holidays, Rudd had insisted that Pembroke remain by his side.

The memories came flooding back, the moment Pembroke stepped off the train and smelled the oysters from the nearby packing houses. It was as though he had never left the Bay.

Or was it? He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the harbor. He had been to the Third Landstead's capital many times. Always, during these colder months of the year, the creek would be filled with fishing boats which had made their way back through the Choptank River from the Bay in order to unload their oysters. Yet now he could see only a few boats docked here.

His gaze travelled further. There at the steamboat wharf, where usually Adam James's Floating Theater stopped at this time of year, were ships. Steel-hulled ships: the cream of the Third Landstead's navy. Surrounding them were log canoes and brogans and other fishing boats – possibly to serve as supply boats, more likely to serve as additional fire. The Third Landstead's watermen had become skilled at gunning during their years of fighting the Second Landstead's watermen.

His immediate impulse was to rush to the wharf and see whether he could be of any assistance – or, more sensibly, to seek out the army camp in the capital. Then he remembered that neither of these actions was possible. He picked up his baggage – there were servants hovering nearby, hired by the train station to assist newly arrived masters, but he wouldn't bother the servants today. With his baggage in hand, he walked across Market Bridge, making his way to the High Street.

He left his baggage at the five-story Dorset Hotel. If he was going to go down, he might as well go down in style. Then he emerged back into the sunny afternoon light, tipping his hat at a young first-ranked girl who was skipping her way across one of the boards laid as a footpath over the dirt street. He looked around. There were few servants here; they had their own community, not far down the street. After orienting himself by sighting the nearby courthouse, he turned left.

Fletcher Mansion – the new High Master had wasted no time in renaming his domicile – was just down the street, incongruously squeezed between an apartment house and a confectionary shop. The mansion was undoubtedly the most elegant house in the capital, however. Pembroke stood in front of it, gazing at the gable-roofed dormers, the ornamented cornices, the marble windowsills, the octagonal tower. After a while, he knew that he was delaying.

He thought he had a good idea of what lay ahead of him. Officially, a liegeman who betrayed his oath of loyalty to his liege-master could be sent down to servant rank or even sent to prison. But the liege-master he had betrayed had already been sent down; if Fletcher had wanted to make an example of Pembroke as well, surely he would have done so in front of Rudd, for further humiliation.

No, Pembroke would probably be sent down only one rank, to third-ranked master. Not a serious punishment. Unless, of course, one recalled that he had no liege-master now and would likely never belong to a liege-master again.

He felt the ache in his throat. He told himself that he was lucky. The faithless liegeman of the fairy tale had been sent into exile. That would not be his own fate. He would simply have to find a place for himself . . . here in this nation where every third-ranked master had his place as liegeman to a second-ranked master.

Pembroke could no longer be an army officer, of course; that long-held dream was destroyed. But could he convince the Third Landstead's army to let him enlist anyway? Would that be permitted, if he did not have a liege-master? Could he hope that any officer in the army would be willing to have Pembroke as a soldier in his unit, knowing that Pembroke had once betrayed his liege-master?

It was then, staring at the elegant brick building, and feeling the dreams of a lifetime fall away from him, that it occurred to him: He was free. He was free of a liege-master, and therefore he was free to pursue any course he wished.

If the army didn't want him, then . . . Then he would go to his liegeman. No longer his liegeman, of course; Pembroke would be the same rank as Meredith. But from what he knew of Meredith, Pembroke thought his soon-to-be-former liegeman would understand why Pembroke had done what he did. And perhaps, just perhaps, this would grant Pembroke an opportunity to make his peace with Meredith. To come to some sort of understanding with the young man who seemed to be drifting farther away from Pembroke every day.

Yes. That was a plan. Now armored as well as he could be against the attack that awaited him, he went to the entrance of Fletcher Mansion.

The servants' entrance. Because he could really not be sure what awaited him.

The servants sent him upstairs to the octagonal tower, where the High Master kept his study.

The High Master did not invite him to sit down. Pembroke considered going down on his knee, then remembered that he could not. He was an anomaly – a master without a liege-master. He wasn't even sure whether he still qualified to be a Landsteader.

High Master Fletcher finally spoke. "I received your note."

Yes, of course Fletcher had. If Fletcher hadn't, the Dean would not have turned up shortly thereafter at Pembroke's doorstep, accompanied by policemen demanding to know if Pembroke's warning note to Fletcher meant that Pembroke was willing to lure his liege-master into confessing his crimes in front of witnesses. Since it appeared that no response was needed or desired here, Pembroke remained silent.

Fletcher suddenly banged his fist upon his desk. The many papers stacked on it slid over. Ignoring this, the High Master shouted, "What took you so long, Pembroke?"

His bewilderment must have been manifest. In the careful words that a school master might use to an obtuse pupil, Fletcher said, "You pledged your liege-loyalty to Rudd when you reached journeyman age. You'd started offering him liegeman's service long before that. You were his only confidant and his only aid in carrying out all his stupid, infantile, damaging deeds. It was obvious even to me – his own cousin – that Rudd was totally unfit for the High Mastership. We were all praying that he would openly confess to one of his nefarious deeds, so that he could be sent down before he came of age. And yet you wasted your powerful strategic skills by helping Rudd sneak around to create havoc. You knew what he was doing and always helped him to do it, and you stayed silent! You would have let this landstead suffer under Rudd's rule. You would have let this landstead fall into decline and likely lose its independence to the Second Landstead. _You_ , who wanted to serve in your landstead's army. What the bloody blades were you thinking, man?"

Time passed before he could speak. Then he said in a low voice, "I was remembering too many fairy tales, I suppose."

He could see from Fletcher's change of expression that the High Master understood. Fletcher swung his gaze away – west, toward the Bay, the heart of the Dozen Landsteads. Pembroke wondered whether Fletcher was thinking of his own wasted years at Narrows School.

The High Master drummed his blotting pad with his pen before saying, "I suppose we've all listened to too many fairy tales. But this is true life, Pembroke. It's bloody, it's sordid, and I shouldn't have to tell a soldier that."

Pembroke waited until the High Master looked at him again; then he nodded. He couldn't speak. He felt much the same as a waterman might feel if his boat flipped over in a storm.

Fletcher's mouth twisted. "I don't like you. I never have. You spent too many years covering up for Rudd's nonsense."

Pembroke lowered his eyes. It was a servant gesture, but under these circumstances, it seemed justified.

The High Master gave a weary gesture. "I don't like you, but I can't base my decisions on whether I like or don't like a person. That was Rudd's mistake. He was always spending his passions on individuals – girls, his favorite liegeman – when he should have been devoting his energies and thoughts to caring for this landstead and its people. I'm the one who has to clear up his mess. You've heard the news?"

He nodded without looking up. If he hadn't already heard on the train what had happened, the activity at the waterfront would have trumpeted the news.

The High Master sighed. "I can't afford to toss aside the man with the best military mind I know. Pembroke, I'm raising you to first rank."

His gaze flew up; his heart pounded from the shock.

Fletcher pointed his pen at Pembroke. "On one condition: I don't want you repeating the same nonsense you helped Rudd carry out. Let me be absolutely clear about this: You put our landstead first. Always. You do not center your primary concern on girls, nor on favorite liegemen—"

"Nor on liege-masters?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could recall them. Then he realized that he did not wish to recall them. Fletcher had named his terms. Pembroke had his own terms.

High Master Fletcher's mouth twisted again. "Not liege-masters," he agreed. "If I start acting like Rudd, and if I ignore any warnings you or others give me . . . Well, I remember what you were like when you captained our team at school. I wouldn't have been half the player I was if you hadn't been my captain. Treat me with the same hard discipline with which you treated me then. For our landstead's sake."

o—o—o

"Once upon a time there was a master who had a loyal liegeman. . . ."

The Dean's wife was on the lawn again with her young children. This time she was joined by her eldest daughter and a young man – a liegeman of the Dean who had been hastily ordered to marry the Dean's daughter. The Dean's daughter and her fiancé were eyeing each other nervously, but with no sign that they planned to rebel against the wishes of the master of their House. Daughters and liegemen rarely did, in the Dozen Landsteads.

Pembroke set aside the postcard he had been reading and assessed the room. His own belongings he had already removed from his room down the street, sending them to the train station. Now, ith the help of the dormitory servants, he had nearly finished packing up Rudd's belongings. The heavier items had been taken downstairs by the servants in order to be readied for the mail train.

Calling in past favors, Pembroke had found an old friend from school – a second-ranked master – who was willing to take on Rudd as his liegeman. Rudd was already at the home of his new liege-master, "Sniffing his way around the third-ranked women of my liege-master's House," Pembroke's friend had written. "I've made clear to him that he can court women of his own rank for marriage, but if he engages in any more shenanigans, I won't extend my protection to him any further. I think he'll behave."

Pembroke expected that Davenham was right. What Rudd had needed all this while was a firm hand upon him. Even a liegeman's firm direction would have done. . . . Pembroke turned his thoughts aside from what might have been, instead going over to the bed, where he had tossed Rudd's correspondence earlier. He began packing the letters.

His hands slowed, however, as he ran across a letter from Rudd's days at Narrows School. It was one of the passionate letters that Pembroke had sent Rudd on the holidays when they could not be together. After a while, unwillingly, Pembroke's gaze drifted over to the postcard sitting on the windowsill.

There was a time when Meredith had written such letters to Pembroke – eager and joyful. But now . . . The latest postcard was even less encouraging than the previous one. "I'm glad to hear of your rise in rank, sir." Nothing more. No suggestion that Meredith was in any way disappointed that Pembroke would not be joining him during Meredith's prolonged visit to the First Landstead.

Did Meredith understand? Did he recognize that Pembroke had broken his promise for their shared holiday, not willingly, but through a sense of duty, first to his liege-master Rudd, and then to his landstead?

Pembroke thought of Rudd's paintings, and of the bed that Rudd had once shared with his liegeman. It was not the same – oh, it was not the same at all. But would Meredith recognize that fact?

Through the window drifted the voice of the Dean's wife. "And then the master promised that he would always be there to protect and guide his liegeman. And the liegeman's heart swelled with love for his liege-master."

Pembroke turned his attention to gathering together the last of Rudd's belongings. Someday, somehow, he would help Meredith recognize how greatly Pembroke valued Meredith's liege-service. Someday, somehow, Pembroke would find a way to balance his duties to his landstead with his duties to his favorite liegeman.

But for now, war had broken out, and Pembroke was the Third Landstead's minister of war.


	4. Historical Note

The nation that Pembroke lives in is an alternative-universe version of the Chesapeake Bay region in Maryland. The Third Landstead is Maryland's Dorchester County; the Second Landstead is Maryland's Calvert County, across the Bay. This particular story is set in Hurlock and Cambridge, both in Dorchester County. The towns' appearances are as close as I can match to their appearances in 1912 – with the notable exception, of course, of the master/liegeman/servant ranking system, which is my own invention.

The background event for this story is one of the Oyster Wars that occurred in our world between the late nineteenth century and mid twentieth century. In those wars, Chesapeake watermen (commercial fishermen) fought each other and the authorities in order to claim fishing territory – mainly for oysters, a major Chesapeake harvest then.

Those of you who like to explore maps may wish to know that the house I've used for Rudd's dormitory still exists at the south corner of Main Street and School Street in Hurlock. In 1912, a high school stood immediately north of the house; I've placed the Third Landstead University in the high school's location. Glen Oak Hotel, where Rudd is trapped, is still located at the crossroads of Main Street and Academy Street.

In addition, the house I used for Fletcher's domicile still exists in Cambridge at 308 High Street, near Poplar Street. After I'd selected this house as a suitable mansion for Fletcher, I checked the house's name. Its actual name, I discovered, is Fletcher Mansion.

I hope it is clear to my discerning readers that I do not necessarily share Pembroke's opinions, particularly on Hurlock – which, for all I know, may have been a delightful town in which to live.

As for Pembroke's offhand remarks concerning servants, it is notable that he mentions a servant district near Fletcher Mansion. In our world, Ward 2 of Cambridge used to be a segregated district for black residents, many of whom held low-paying jobs. This eventually resulted in furious protests by African Americans during the 1960s. The possibility of an uprising by the lower-ranked members of society seems not to have occurred to the Third Landstead's new minister of war – at least, not at this juncture in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> [Publication history](http://duskpeterson.com/cvhep.htm#liegemansservice).
> 
> This story was originally published at [duskpeterson.com](http://duskpeterson.com). The story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Copyright © 2020 Dusk Peterson. Permission is granted for fanworks inspired by this story. Please credit Dusk Peterson and duskpeterson.com for the original story.


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